


Play the Game

by theLazarus



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Bohemian Rhapsody, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLazarus/pseuds/theLazarus
Summary: You and Ben are dating and, while that's going great, you sometimes find yourself feeling jealous of and insecure around Joe, since he and Ben share something you and Ben can never have together. You adore Joe, maybe not as much as Ben adores him, but you were looking forward to a night alone with Ben and that turns out to just not be the case. Now you're feeling tested in more ways than one after the booze and board games break out. So, in the end, who will win the game?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost: I've never enjoyed writing in the second person, hence why I use the first person point of view. Part of this is mere selfishness as I'm writing, plus I also don't fully enjoy other fanfiction with the second person narrative; it feels distant to me. So, with that being said, I hope you can enjoy this fanfic and I also hope you can immerse yourself into the "I" narrative. If not, I hope you still enjoy it in some way. Second: I'm guessing Ben is actually a decently skilled drummer after all the rehearsing and playing Roger Taylor in the film, so my artistic liberty of perhaps dumbing down his skills is not meant to be insulting to our beloved Ben Hardy.

Seeing Ben sloppily try to play the set of drums he and Joe had bought together always made me chuckle to myself. It was the best when he would be playing them as I walked in the door--I could hear the beating and the crashing of the cymbals even from outside the house and then there was Ben, flailing and throwing his head back and forth. It was like stepping into my own personal rock concert, only made better if Joe was also there trying to coerce Ben off the drum set so he could have a turn. 

“What song are you playing?” I shouted over Ben’s playing, him having not even noticed my arrival.

Ben looked up and stopped his flailing. “‘Don’t Stop Me Now’”

I smirked. “Oh?”

“Oh, shut up. I thought I sounded good.”

I laughed. “You don’t sound bad. I really think if you keep this up, you’ll be a master.” I sat down on the couch in front of the drums and twisted around the open the blinds. Ben winced as the evening sunlight broke through. “Where’s Joe? Did I miss him?”

“He’s busy tonight,” Ben told me, starting to tap on the drums again. “Or so he says.”

“Aw, you miss him.”

Ben glared at me before tossing one of his drumsticks in my direction, which ended up colliding with the cushion next to me. 

“I do not miss him,” he said, standing up and coming over to sit next to me.

I gently poked his arm with the drumstick. “You do. Invite him over for dinner sometime soon. I miss him too. And you can cook for us.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Joe is such a picky eater. I swear, I’d never be able to satisfy him.”

I paused, waiting for Ben to catch his own euphemism.

“Fuck off,” Ben said once he caught on. He sighed and leaned back against the cushion. “I need to get some auditions.”

“You will,” I said, reaching over to play with his hair. “That I’m sure of.” 

Just looking at his profile made me ache, with his strong jaw and those carved-out cheekbones, the bump in his nose, his light lashes framing the blue-green eyes. His face was pink from the exertion of drumming and a light sheen of sweat coated his forehead. I continued to twirl the pieces of blonde hair between my fingers, almost sincerely wishing he actually had long hair like in the movie. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Your face, what else?” I leaned forward and kissed him gently. “That beautiful, beautiful face.” I kissed him again and he pulled my leg on top of his own, his hand moving up to grip my ass. 

Ben threaded his hands through my hair and pulled it at the root, jerking my head back. “Is this why you came over?” he asked in a low voice. 

I dug my nails into his bicep. “One of the reasons.” I shimmied out of his grasp and straddled him, pinning his hands back behind his head, his wrists pressed against the edge of the couch’s back. “But of course I wanted to hear your drumming.”

Ben’s face fell. “You think I sound bad?”

I released his wrists and cupped his cheek with my hand. “Oh no, Ben, I wasn’t being sarcastic,” I told him. “I really do love it. I love watching you play.”

He smiled and reached his hand up to lightly grip my throat. “You do?”

That really turned me on, so much so that I felt my groin pulsing. I sighed. “Yeah, I do, I love watching you play, Ben.” 

He sat up and kissed up my neck to bite my ear. “What do you like about watching me play?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Everything,” I breathed. “I love how wild you get, how you just go with it.”

“What else?” Ben’s left hand was still at my throat but his right hand had moved down to rub my crotch through my pants.

“I love when you get sweaty and your face flushes,” I said, my breath hitching, my hips starting to move his the rhythm of his hand. “I love the facial expressions you make. You get so focused. Ben--”

Ben pulled me down to kiss him, a messy, desperate kiss. Our tongues met and I sucked on his until he pulled back, biting my lower lip. His hand was still rubbing my crotch and I could feel the wetness soaking through my underwear. I kissed him again, running my hands under his t-shirt to feel his abdomen and his pecs, until the chiming of his phone made us both pause.

He reached into the pocket of his sweatpants to retrieve it, glancing at it before unlocking it. “Hey,” he said into the phone, his right hand still on my crotch but then still. “No, that’s alright. Yeah, yeah, definitely. Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.” Ben hung up and looked at me. “Joe’s coming over.”

“What, now?” I asked, exasperated. 

“Yeah,” he said, nudging me off him and standing up. He ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta shower. What should we make for dinner? Or should we get something?”

“I have no idea.” I sighed and got up, adjusting my shirt and pants. 

“You look pissed,” Ben remarked.

I hesitated. “Well, I am a little,” I told him. “I didn’t mean for Joe to come over right now. Come on--we were about to fuck.”

“We will,” Ben replied with a wink.

\---

Joe apparently loved breakfast-for-dinner so Ben made the pancakes and I made the eggs while the bacon cooked in the oven. Seeing Ben whisk flour and egg together, pouring the mixture into a buttered pan, while wearing an apron was incredibly endearing to me. He made the same faces doing it while he would practice drumming--the deep concentration, his eyes totally focused on the object in front of him, the slight pout and furrowed brow. He had an aggressive grace to his method, while I sneakily tried to remove bits of shells from the bowl of eggs I had been preparing. 

The knock on the front door came just as I was struggling to pull the tray of bacon out of the oven without spilling grease all over the inside. Ben snapped up from the stove, wiping his hands on his apron before heading to the door. I could hear the excited chatter from the hall, the sound of Ben’s deep, raspy voice mingling with Joe’s chipper, nasal tone.

Ben’s arm was around Joe’s shoulders when they entered the kitchen. “We’re making your favorite,” he said to Joe, beaming. 

“Well, this is perfect, considering my dinner plans blew up in my face,” Joe said and moved to the stove to inspect Ben’s pancakes. “Bisquick?”

“From scratch, actually,” I told him. “Ben’s quite the little chef.”

“Really?” Joe replied, turning to Ben, who looked a little embarrassed. “I might have to borrow you the next time I don’t feel like cooking.”

Ben laughed but I was occupied by the eggs, folding them gently, carefully, until they were the perfect texture and color. I liked Joe--I liked Joe a lot, actually--but I knew they had a type of bond that I would never have with Ben. Sometimes I just felt left out and, as much as I did want to see Joe, his arrival made the insecurity hit me suddenly and I felt like a third wheel. 

“Ben, can you grab some plates?” I asked, the pan of eggs and spatula in my hands.

Ben grabbed three dinner plates from one of the cabinets and held two out in front of him so I could plate the eggs. He finished each plate off with the pancakes and then I added the bacon. Joe grabbed the butter and syrup, apparently knowing where to find them, and followed us to the kitchen table. 

After Joe and I sat down, Ben went back to the fridge. “Drinks?” he asked us but before we could answer, he had pulled out a bottle of wine. “Ah, let’s finish this off.”

I took the bottle after he sat down, placing clear glasses in front of us, and reviewed the label. I wasn’t too familiar with wine, but it was white, so that was a good start for me. “How is it?” I asked Ben.

“It’s alright. Not sure how well it will pair with the pancakes, but let’s give it a go.” 

Once the wine had been poured, Ben raised his glass in the center of the table. “Cheers,” he said, and Joe and I followed, also extending our glasses. “To breakfast-for-dinner.”

“Cheers,” Joe and I said in unison. The three of us clinked our glasses together and took a sip. The wine was somewhat dry and I secretly wished I could get up and mix it with orange juice, but I took another big swig anyway.

“You guys killed it,” Joe said after he swallowed a mouthful of pancake. “This is perfect. I was supposed to take this girl out tonight. I actually wasn’t sure where we were going to go, but this beats whatever else I was going to eat.”

“Where’d you meet this girl?” I asked.

Joe chuckled. “I’m a little ashamed to admit that I met her on tinder. What’s worse is that the first thing she told me was that she loved the movie.”

Ben laughed. “She loved you even in those wigs? You’re gonna have to marry her, Joe.”

Joe chuckled again, nodding in agreement. “Probably. I guess that’s my legacy,” he added, glancing at Ben.

I poured Ben more wine, then held the bottle in front of Joe’s glass. “Need to be topped off?” I asked.

Joe considered the offer for a moment before shrugging. “Sure, why not. Thanks.”

I poured myself the last of the bottle and sipped it as I observed Ben and Joe, listening to them regaling each other with stories I had only heard from Ben, but stories they had experienced together. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more--to be closer to Ben or to be closer to Joe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tame, maybe not-so-exciting, "chapter" for you guys--but trust me, it gets better. Also, this looks so much longer in Google Docs:)) I hope y'all enjoy it.

All three of us full and content, we meandered into the living room, each of holding vodka tonics Ben had prepared for us, where Joe sat at the drums and Ben and I sat on the couch. He reached over to the table beside him and grabbed his pack of Camels. As he lit his, I picked the pack up off his thigh and took one for myself, feeling loose and far more relaxed since the wine and sips of vodka and I wanted to keep the buzz going. Ben turned his head so I could press the tip of my cigarette to his, inhaling until mine also glowed and trailed smoke, before grabbing the ashtray from the same table and resting that on his thigh. 

I twisted the blinds shut, the sun being completely gone at that point, despite how badly I wanted people driving or walking by to see Joe clowning around on the drums. He had started to tap the drumsticks against the equipment, tapping his foot in unison with the beat he was creating, bobbing his head with the rhythm. 

“I still play bass sometimes,” Joe said, primarily to me. “But I gotta say, I get a real kick out of these drums. A wise investment, right Ben?”

Ben nodded, exhaling. “Definitely. Now we just gotta get the whole band back together.”

“I haven’t heard Joe play an actual Queen song yet,” I said and took a drag. “I’ve only ever heard him bashing the drums wildly. Or so I think, maybe you >have played Queen, Joe, and I couldn’t tell. So I guess I’ll have to judge who the better player is.”

“No contest,” Joe replied, still tapping. “Definitely me. Little Ben might have fooled the casting directors, but he’s no match for my real musical talent.”

Ben scoffed. “Alright, Joe, what are you gonna play? And may I remind you that I had the equipment that Roger Taylor used in Queen?” 

“I’m going to play ‘I Want to Break Free,’” Joe answered. “Which means you’ll have to do it too. And you don’t have to tell me twice about that equipment. At least I got the wigs.” He shifted on the stool and began changing the rhythm, beating the drums harder as he alternated with tapping the cymbals. 

I leaned into Ben and reveled in his slightly herbal, soapy post-shower scent, and took another sip of the vodka tonic. Joe had started half-singing the song as he drummed, bobbing his head along with the words. I started to bounce my foot back and forth, impressed by his skills playing an actual Queen song, but more importantly, by his energy. Joe always knew how to have a good time no matter what the situation was.

“Your turn,” Joe said to Ben, standing up, slightly out of breath. “Not bad, right?” he asked me and took a bow.

I nodded as I took another sip of my drink, my cigarette fuming in the ashtray. “You’re a real rockstar, Joe,” I replied, clapping. 

Ben lifted the ashtray from his thigh and set it on the cushion next to me and stood up, cigarette between his lips, and stretched each arm in front of his chest, pulling them taut to his sides, as if he were preparing for some sort of athletic feat. 

“You just watch,” Ben said, trading places with Joe. “And listen.”

Joe sat next to me and sipped his drink. “What do you think?” he asked me quietly. “You think Ben is a real drummer?”

I laughed. “It’s all I ever see him do, so yeah, I think so.”

Ben’s rendition of “I Want to Break Free” was also impressive--both Joe and I were bobbing with the music and I was getting turned on all over again watching Ben play--his hands gripped the drumsticks with confidence and the muscles in his arms bulged and then relaxed again with each beat, his face grown flushed as he managed to still smoke the cigarette in his mouth and squinted behind the smoke. 

After the final beat Ben rose from the stool, the cigarette gone out on its own, and Joe and I both clapped enthusiastically--Joe even emitted an earnest “whoop” of excitement. Ben returned to the couch, situating himself between Joe and I, and placed his cigarette butt in the ashtray. I handed him his drink and he downed it.

“So,” he began, looking at me. “Who won?”

“I really can’t say,” I replied. “I enjoyed both performances.” I ran my hand through his hair. “And I’m not going to be biased.”

“It’s okay,” Joe said. “I’m biased toward Ben too.”

“Come on,” Ben said, placing one hand on each of our thighs and standing up. “More drinks. Joe is entirely too sober right now.”

As Ben walked to the kitchen Joe leaned over to me. “He just wants me to get wasted so I’ll do karaoke again,” he told me. “Not that I’m against it.”

I laughed. “Now that’s something he couldn’t outdo you in for sure.” 

In the kitchen, Ben was holding the bottle of Absolut and had another lit cigarette in his mouth. “More drinks,” he repeated, nodding at our then-empty glasses.

I held mine out and Joe followed and Ben filled mine about a third of the way, but he filled Joe’s halfway. 

“Oh jeez, you really are trying to get me wasted,” Joe remarked, staring incredulously at the glass.

Ben clinked his own glass against Joe’s and took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling smoke. “You’re not driving. Why not have a good time?”

I silently sipped my own vodka, the lack of a mixer causing it to coat the inside of my mouth with its terrible, bitter taste and it burned as it slid down my throat. I went to the fridge and grabbed the orange juice, pouring it in until the mixture hit the brim of the glass.

“You know what we should do?” Ben asked Joe and I.

“What?” I asked, nursing the drink as I carefully held it in front of my lips.

“Play a game.”

“What game?” Joe chimed in.

“I don’t know, I have a bunch in my closet,” Ben replied, visibly excited--the alcohol must have been hitting him. “Let’s go look,” he said and took my hand. “Joe, you finish that drink. The party’s about to really begin.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, hopefully more of a tantalizing bit for you guys to read.

I managed to not spill any of my screwdriver onto the floor as Ben dragged me to his bedroom, puffing on his cigarette the whole way, ashes flying around us. Once we were inside he shut the door and looked at me as he took another drag before putting the cigarette out in the black plastic ashtray next to his bed that sat underneath the glow of the bedside table lamp. The hardwood floor of his room was somewhat littered with various t-shirts and hoodies, and cardboard boxes full of books and records still sat beneath the window from not having been unpacked since his move to the states.  
  
“What?” I asked him, my back to the door.  
  
Ben moved to me and took my drink, placing it on top of his dresser, before he put his knee in between my legs and coerced me against the wall. He pressed his knee into my crotch and had his left hand flat on the wall next to me--his freshly-showered scent had turned to the smell of vodka and smoke though it was just as titillating.  
  
“Joe’s waiting,” I reminded him and tried to hide a smirk but failed.  
  
Ben leaned forward and gently bit my jaw. “Joe’s very patient.”  
  
I reached my hand down his sweatpants and felt him through his boxers. “I’m sure he is, but it would still be rude to keep him waiting,” I protested and kissed his mouth, cupping him in my hand. Apparently the vodka had stirred up his own need.  
  
Ben kissed me roughly and removed his knee from my crotch, unbuttoning my pants, zipping down the fly and yanking them down slightly, before sliding his hand down past my underwear and slipped two fingers inside. “What do you think we should play?” he asked, curling his fingers upward and starting to pump them slowly. “Should we play ‘how long before you cum?’” He pulled my hand out of his pants and pinned it against the wall.  
  
“You’re not playing fair,” I said as I tried not to close my eyes and give in. With my free hand, I reached out and grabbed his shirt, twisting the fabric in my fist, pulling him closer. “Fuck, Ben.”  
  
He pumped harder and faster and I pulled his shirt even harder as I let my eyes flutter shut. I bit my lip in an effort to not moan and Ben kissed me, which both helped and made it more difficult to muffle the sounds, and kept working his fingers, the heel of his palm rubbing my clit. I could feel myself edging closer and closer, I could feel even more fluid rushing around his fingers, and I felt the orgasm building up from my pelvis to my chest until it became impossible to be silent.  
  
“Oh--fuck--Ben,” I exclaimed and he kissed me even harder in an effort to silence me. I grabbed his waist, digging my nails into his side as I came, bucking my hips against his fingers, my expletives muffled by his mouth on mine. My chest heaved quickly as I struggled to catch my breath, Ben then slowly curling and uncurling his fingers, his palm resting on my clit which send residual shivers through my body.  
  
Still clutching his shirt, I pulled him into me and kissed him slowly, moving my hands up his waist and chest to run through his hair messily.  
“We have to choose a real game now,” I said breathlessly.  
  
Ben slid his hand out from my pants and grabbed my drink from his dresser, swallowing nearly half of it before handing it to me, and I downed the last of it.  
  
“Nothing could beat that game,” he said, going over to his closet and opening the door. “It didn’t even take long,” he added with a cocky smile.  
  
I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing his backside into me, and grabbed him through his sweatpants. “So let’s see how long you can go,” I proposed and grinded my crotch into his ass and reached my left hand up underneath his shirt, the warmth of his bare skin welcome on my fingertips.  
  
Ben groaned but ignored me, reaching his arms up to the shelf in the closet and rummaging around. “Ah,” he exclaimed, pulling out a white box. “Life. We’ll play the game of Life.”  
  
Ben was so focused on the board game, because he wanted to tease me or because he really wanted to play, I wasn’t sure, so I released him, my heart still beating at a slightly rapid pace. I went into the bathroom and he washed his hands as I peed. I felt even more drunk and I wanted another cigarette, at least in lieu of not having Ben. He even looked beautiful under the harsh light against the blackness outside.  
  
When we had finished up and stepped back into the kitchen, Joe was sitting at the table with his glass of Absolut in one hand and his phone in the other. He lifted his head and raised his eyebrows slightly when he looked at Ben, then looked at me and tried to hide a smirk.  
  
“What game did you guys decide on?” Joe asked.  
  
“The game of Life,” Ben declared, setting the box on the table.  
  
Joe chuckled. “So we can all be reminded of our shortcomings in it?”  
  
“Please, you both were in one of the biggest movies of modern history,” I said, taking the top off the box and unfolding the board as I tried to shake off Joe’s knowing look. “Maybe of all-time. Isn’t that enough for one lifetime?”  
  
“Well, now I need to become a real rock star,” Ben replied. “I’m determined.”  
  
“I feel like you already are,” I said as I helped Joe put the plastic white buildings and bridges in place on the board. “Honestly, you are a real drummer.”  
  
Ben smiled and put his hand on his chest. “You think?”  
  
“My God, Ben, you only played the drums for how long?” Joe commented. “And played in front of how many people?”  
  
Ben grabbed Joe’s hand. “We are rock stars, aren’t we?”  
  
I chuckled. “You are so drunk.”  
  
“Not enough,” Ben replied. “We need to make this into a drinking game. How about a drink every time you spin a 6?”  
  
“A drink every time you have a kid,” Joe quipped.  
  
“Yes, I like that one,” I said. “A drink every time you have to pay another player.”  
  
“Well, we need more drinks,” Ben said and grabbed the bottle of Absolut.

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I ashamed? Sort of. Will I write more? Probably. Some fantasies never die.

About halfway through the game it was obvious that all of us were buzzing even harder than we were before. Joe ended up having to take the most obligatory drinks from spinning a bunch of 6s, while I followed close behind from having to pay both Ben and Joe for their respective services through which career cards they got. Funnily enough, I ended up getting the “entertainer” card--Joe got artist and Ben got teacher, which made me imagine him standing in front of a chalkboard with a white button down shirt underneath a blazer with a tie and a pair of glasses to complete the ensemble. It wasn’t a bad image at all.  
  
Joe spun another 6 on the multicolored plastic wheel and groaned loudly. “Why me?” he asked and grabbed his drink to take a swig.  
  
“A lot of artists drink a lot,” I said in a half-kidding attempt at being reassuring.  
  
“We’re almost done,” Ben said and spun the wheel. The tiny white arrow landed on an 8 and his blue plastic minivan landed on “A tree falls on your house--pay $20,000 if not insured.” Ben groaned this time and handed Joe, who was acting as our banker, a few yellow fake bills.  
  
“Drink!” I told him.  
  
“Fine, fine,” Ben said and waved his hand at me in a shooing motion.  
  
“I feel like I’m going to have the worst retirement,” Joe said. “At the rate I’m going.”  
  
“Same,” I replied, glancing down at the few bills I had and only 3 Life tiles.  
  
Finally the game ended with, shocking to all of us, Joe winning after having earned over 3 million dollars that he could retire with. Ben ranked second and I was last, to which he and I both cheered our glasses to one another and took another sip of our vodkas.  
  
My head was buzzing hard. I took the burning cigarette from Ben’s hand and stole a long drag then looked at the clock of the stove. “God, it’s 1am?”  
  
Joe rubbed his hands over his face. “I need water.” He got up and filled his empty glass with tap water and chugged it.  
  
“I need to go to bed,” Ben said before putting out the cigarette. He staggered up out of the chair and hunched himself over the sink, cupping his hand under the running water from the faucet and bringing it to his mouth.  
  
“Can I just crash here?” Joe asked as he leaned against the counter. “That uber ride home will be rough.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Ben said and slung his arm over Joe’s shoulders. “I’ll show you the spare bedroom. It’s marvelous.”  
  
“Ben, you’ve done zero minutes worth of decorating this place,” I remarked.  
  
“No, but it’s still marvelous. White walls, white sheets.”  
  
Joe laughed. “Sure, sure it is.”  
  
They staggered away and I looked at the mess of glasses, the nearly-full ashtray and the board game that was still splayed out with paper money and tiny LIFE tiles scattered all over the surface of the kitchen table. I knew I should have cleaned it up but washing my face and brushing my teeth and cozying up under Ben’s sheets seemed like the more ideal plan.  
  
I had no idea what Ben and Joe were doing in the spare room while I was drunkenly trying to get ready to go to sleep, but Ben didn’t return until after I had changed and was about to get situated under the blankets.  
  
Ben shut the door and flopped down on the bed next to me. “That was fun,” he said.  
  
“It was.” I pulled the black comforter up so it was covering everything except my neck and head. “I’m glad Joe won.”  
  
“The game?”  
  
“Yeah, he was an artist. Artists deserve to make more money.”  
  
Ben rolled over so he could get under the comforter too. I scooched closer and wrapped my arm around his waist before I kissed him. The kiss grew more intense and I almost pulled him on top of me before he pulled back.  
  
“Please?” I asked.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m so tired now,” Ben replied and reached out to play with a strand of my hair.  
  
I sighed. “So Joe cockblocked me?”  
  
Ben looked offended. “What? If anything, vodka cockblocked you.”  
  
“And who’s idea was the vodka?”  
  
“Jeez, sorry you didn’t have a good time,” Ben mumbled, turning away, and turned off the light. “Or, like, sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”  
  
“God, that’s not how I meant it,” I protested and pressed myself up against his backside. “I’m sorry. I love Joe, you know that.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I sighed and laid back, staring at the darkness above me. I could only take comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t be awake to fret for too much longer--the vodka would put me to sleep sooner than I could anticipate.

  
  


The bathroom door was shut and I could hear the shower running when I woke up. I sat up and rubbed my face, then ran my hands through my hair which was felt almost tangled beyond repair. My head hurt a little and I was hungry but most of all I needed water, so I managed to get up and head to the bathroom down the hall from Ben’s room, hoping that Joe wouldn’t already be in there, but the door to the spare bedroom was still shut.  
  
After peeing, splashing cold water on my face and rinsing with a travel sized bottle of Listerine I found in the medicine cabinet, I went back to Ben’s room. The bathroom door was still shut but the shower was no longer running; I sat on his bed and scrolled through Facebook on my phone, all the while still uneasy about the tiff I had with Ben during the night.  
I was trying to find any weekend events that could possibly remedy the situation between Ben and I when the bathroom door clicked open and he walked out in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his lower half.  
  
“Morning,” I said. “How’d you sleep?”  
  
“Like a rock,” Ben replied and opened the top drawer of his dresser, his back to me.  
  
“Same.” I sighed. “I’m sorry about last night.”  
  
“What?” Ben turned around, a pair of socks in his hand.  
  
“I’m sorry about saying Joe ‘cockblocked’ me and all that.”  
  
Ben titled his head. “Oh, I mostly forgot about that. It’s okay.” He sat down next to me and said, “I know you love Joe” with a big grin.  
  
“Yes, I do, and you do too.” I kissed his cheek. “The poor guy must have one of the worst hangovers of his life right now. He was plastered.”  
  
Ben’s body was so tempting being almost totally exposed. His skin was some of the smoothest I had ever felt and still I never saw him moisturize. In his sitting position, he was slightly hunched but I could still make out the slight definition of abs and the subtle protrusion of his pecs, and that profile--that angelic, unreal profile of his. His little pouts and brow strains were things I had learned to pick up on easily but they drove me mad sometimes, and that morning was no exception.  
  
“We could let Joe sleep a little longer,” Ben said, turning to me. “I’m sorry about last night, too.” He nudged me back onto the mattress and laid on top of me, pulling the comforter over us, his towel being the only fabric actually separating his body from mine.  
  
“It’s okay, we were both drunk, it wouldn’t have been fun anyway.” I held his face in my hands. “I really like you, Ben.”  
  
“I really like you too.”  
  
He smoothed back my hair and kissed me. As the kiss deepened, his right hand squeezed my breast, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Ben’s lips parted and our tongues met, our kisses becoming more intense and eager, and his hands on my body started to make me moan quietly.  
  
“I want you, Ben,” I said as he gently bit my neck.  
  
He looked up at me and smirked. “You do?”  
  
“Don’t do that. I was practically begging for it last night.”  
  
“‘Practically begging’ is not the same as begging.”  
  
I wanted to be peeved about that remark, but his sea-green eyes looking into mine and the cocky smirk still on his lips didn’t allow me to be thoroughly irritated. I relented: “Please,” I said and ran my hand over his torso. “Please, Ben.”  
  
Ben’s smirk grew. “I’ve never heard you beg before. I like it.”  
  
I laced my fingers through his damp hair and pulled him down to kiss me--I was irritated then, irritated from having to wait and from him feeling so close yet so far sometimes, both literally and figuratively.  
  
“Goddammit Ben, I’m serious,” I said as I broke away from the kiss. “Please.”  
  
Ben rolled over and pulled me on top of him, placing me on his crotch, which was still covered by the towel. I started to grind into him with my hands on his chest, feeling his growing hardon through my joggers and feeling myself growing wetter with every bit of friction.  
  
I threw the comforter back and leaned down to kiss Ben again with my hand cradling his face before I kissed down his neck to his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed, and I very gently bit his skin, then traced my fingertips along his stomach until my hand met the towel, and I scooched myself down the bed so he was positioned in front of me.  
  
I drew the towel away from Ben and licked up his shaft to the head, which emitted another moan from him, and gently spread his legs a bit with my left hand, kissing the soft skin of his inner thighs before going back up to take his erection in my mouth and gently suck, simultaneously massaging gently with my left hand.  
  
Ben ran his hands through my hair and pulled a little. “That feels really good.”  
  
I stopped and pulled away from his grasp. “I like when you tell me that.”  
  
“Please keep going.”  
  
“I like it when you beg,” I said and spit into my hand to stroke him.  
  
Ben let out a laugh and grabbed my hair again, coercing me. “Please, come on.”  
  
I obliged, working him in my mouth for a couple minutes longer, his sighs and quiet moans making me even more turned on until I moved back up his body and kissed his mouth again, straddling him and starting to grind.  
  
“You’ve been so insensitive lately,” I said, half-joking and with a smirk. “I didn’t get to see you for like a week and then you played all those games with me.”  
  
Ben smirked back. “I’m sorry. But you know I love games. And we couldn’t leave Joe out.” He put his hands on my hips.  
  
“No, of course not,” I replied somewhat sarcastically and bent down to kiss him again.  
  
Ben sat up and pushed me onto the bed, going behind me and pulling my pants off. He reached over into the drawer of his nightstand and grabbed a condom.  
  
I positioned myself on my hands and knees. “No more games?” I asked.  
  
Ben rubbed my clit with wet fingers. “Well, at least for now.” He pushed his hips against my ass and I felt him inside, causing my breath to hitch, and I let out a quiet moan.  
  
He started slowly, rocking into me with his hands on my hips, and I let my upper body fall forward on the bed as I reached down to massage my clit. His pace quickened into deep thrusts as he pulled me up against him with his arm around my neck.  
  
“Oh my god--Ben--” I moaned and he covered my mouth with his hand.  
  
“Can’t wake Joe up,” he said, his face flushed.  
  
Ben’s forearm pressed against my chest and his palm over my mouth made it harder to maintain control. I reached my left hand back, craning it behind me, and tugged on his hair; he removed his hand from my mouth and started to rub my clit himself as his left hand squeezed my breast through my shirt.  
  
“Cum for me,” he said low into my ear.  
  
“Keep going,” I said and tugged on his hair harder. I was getting close, my eyes shut and Ben’s stifled moans in my ear were the only sounds I could hear, and his hair was damp between my fingers, his body hot pressed against my backside. Sweat was matting my own hair to the back of my neck and the blood flooded to my cheeks as he kept massaging my clit and thrusting into me.  
“Yes--please, Ben--” I exclaimed as quietly as I could, right on the edge.  
  
Ben moved his left hand up to my neck and squeezed and the orgasm erupted, pulsing through my body, and only his hand around my throat stifled my vocalizations. I collapsed back onto my hands and knees, trying to catch my breath.  
  
“Fuck,” Ben said, thrusting harder, his fingers digging into my hips. I bucked back into him and after a few seconds he leaned down on top of me. He managed to keep his own orgasm as quiet as he could, exhaling deeply and slowing his thrusts as he loosened his grip on my hips, before he also tried to catch his breath.  
  
Ben rolled over onto the bed and I followed, both of us lying on our backs. I turned my cheek so I could look at his face--all flushed skin and half-lidded green eyes and parted lips. Just outrageously beautiful.  
  
“Who won?” I asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Who won this game?”  
  
He smiled. “I think we both did.”  
  
I kissed him deeply for a moment. “Agreed. Truce?”  
  
Ben nodded. “Truce.”


End file.
